Read Online Scale-Bright by Benjanun Sriduangkaew - Free Book Online
Authors: Benjanun Sriduangkaew
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never offer you absolution, archer."
"Nor have I asked for any. It's not my habit to request what I do not deserve."
"You bargained for a year of freedom from duty."
"To expose your husband's dishonor."
"A poor lie, archer. You wanted it so that like a lovestruck bride you may be at your wife's side constantly."
Houyi does not mention that she rarely has the chance to see Chang'e. "She has a niece who requires care and I'm obliged by kinship to provide. It doesn't interfere with the problem of Dijun. I'm certain to discover enough to shame him. You'll have every legitimate reason to dissolve the marriage."
"It will be that or I shall have to tear his throat open before the court and bathe my son in whatever comes out. You can't imagine how it galls me to require you for anything, but I despise him more thoroughly than I do you."
The goddess bends to one of the fallen mulberries, picks one large enough to fill her palm. Between her fingers the fruit's skin brightens, metal in fire. With her nails she breaks off a piece, and forces it into Houyi's mouth.
She accepts, for this too is correct, part of her atonement. The fruit is acid-tart. Scalding the inside of her mouth it is heady, heightening her hurts until she is on her knees.
Xihe pins her against the roots, which are facets, which are lacerations in Houyi's back trickling as crimson as Fusang. Another piece of mulberry is pushed between her cracking lips. "In my youth I was as forgiving as I was foolish," says the goddess.
Houyi's heartbeat roils. Her breath snaps tight and she looks up at Xihe through a sunset haze. Behind the goddess the sea has gone to oil splats, the sky darkening to inkstains.
"Don't faint, archer. Haven't you always been arrogant of your discipline, your uncomplaining acceptance of pain? This fruit is for your good. As you are now no skill at arms will shield you from Dijun's fire, should it come to that. Once you've swallowed this, seed and skin, you will be impervious to him. For a time. So eat, archer, and waste not a drop."
"Another year," Houyi whispers against Xihe's wrist, which she grips in a slackening hand. "When I've finished this hunt for you, when you have what you've desired all these centuries. Another year."
The goddess' face has become smears. "Perhaps."
2.2
Julienne has always liked the harbor, but lately she seeks it with a frequency that startles her, as though these walks have been scheduled for her by someone else. She would go through her day between the glass cases, taking jewelry out and putting them back in. Occasionally the pieces she extracts from nests of velvet and resin will enter felt boxes, to be taken home like pets newly adopted. Then a need for the sea would seize her, and out she goes.
Sometimes she searches the pavement and thinks it doesn't feel right, that the signatures and handprints of celebrities do not belong down the Avenue of Stars. Today she looks into the sky. For clouds or storms perhaps; this morning there was an amber cloud alert on forecast.
There are three missed calls on her phone, all from Elena. The last is time-stamped six hours ago. Julienne still hasn't decided whether to ring back. Maybe not: Elena is probably on her way to the airport, if not already onboard. Her Hong Kong number will have been discarded, her Wan Chai flat emptied.
Rain happens gradually, in grudging obligation to the Observatory. She stays out until it begins to come down in sheets and ducks into the Shangri-La.
Her heels do not sink, deep and sudden, into the carpet. The lights are only electric chandeliers and the fountain just water. She pinches rain out of her hair and half-hopes to see the furniture—different. Not this beige orange. Something else. Different décor, different material.
She comes so often that the lobby staff must recognize her on sight and not for the first time she considers checking in: she can afford it, too. Ever since her aunts have taken over expenses her saving
"Nor have I asked for any. It's not my habit to request what I do not deserve."
"You bargained for a year of freedom from duty."
"To expose your husband's dishonor."
"A poor lie, archer. You wanted it so that like a lovestruck bride you may be at your wife's side constantly."
Houyi does not mention that she rarely has the chance to see Chang'e. "She has a niece who requires care and I'm obliged by kinship to provide. It doesn't interfere with the problem of Dijun. I'm certain to discover enough to shame him. You'll have every legitimate reason to dissolve the marriage."
"It will be that or I shall have to tear his throat open before the court and bathe my son in whatever comes out. You can't imagine how it galls me to require you for anything, but I despise him more thoroughly than I do you."
The goddess bends to one of the fallen mulberries, picks one large enough to fill her palm. Between her fingers the fruit's skin brightens, metal in fire. With her nails she breaks off a piece, and forces it into Houyi's mouth.
She accepts, for this too is correct, part of her atonement. The fruit is acid-tart. Scalding the inside of her mouth it is heady, heightening her hurts until she is on her knees.
Xihe pins her against the roots, which are facets, which are lacerations in Houyi's back trickling as crimson as Fusang. Another piece of mulberry is pushed between her cracking lips. "In my youth I was as forgiving as I was foolish," says the goddess.
Houyi's heartbeat roils. Her breath snaps tight and she looks up at Xihe through a sunset haze. Behind the goddess the sea has gone to oil splats, the sky darkening to inkstains.
"Don't faint, archer. Haven't you always been arrogant of your discipline, your uncomplaining acceptance of pain? This fruit is for your good. As you are now no skill at arms will shield you from Dijun's fire, should it come to that. Once you've swallowed this, seed and skin, you will be impervious to him. For a time. So eat, archer, and waste not a drop."
"Another year," Houyi whispers against Xihe's wrist, which she grips in a slackening hand. "When I've finished this hunt for you, when you have what you've desired all these centuries. Another year."
The goddess' face has become smears. "Perhaps."
2.2
Julienne has always liked the harbor, but lately she seeks it with a frequency that startles her, as though these walks have been scheduled for her by someone else. She would go through her day between the glass cases, taking jewelry out and putting them back in. Occasionally the pieces she extracts from nests of velvet and resin will enter felt boxes, to be taken home like pets newly adopted. Then a need for the sea would seize her, and out she goes.
Sometimes she searches the pavement and thinks it doesn't feel right, that the signatures and handprints of celebrities do not belong down the Avenue of Stars. Today she looks into the sky. For clouds or storms perhaps; this morning there was an amber cloud alert on forecast.
There are three missed calls on her phone, all from Elena. The last is time-stamped six hours ago. Julienne still hasn't decided whether to ring back. Maybe not: Elena is probably on her way to the airport, if not already onboard. Her Hong Kong number will have been discarded, her Wan Chai flat emptied.
Rain happens gradually, in grudging obligation to the Observatory. She stays out until it begins to come down in sheets and ducks into the Shangri-La.
Her heels do not sink, deep and sudden, into the carpet. The lights are only electric chandeliers and the fountain just water. She pinches rain out of her hair and half-hopes to see the furniture—different. Not this beige orange. Something else. Different décor, different material.
She comes so often that the lobby staff must recognize her on sight and not for the first time she considers checking in: she can afford it, too. Ever since her aunts have taken over expenses her saving
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